


Real Monsters Have Eight Legs

by Zoelily



Series: Cockles Moments [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Camping, Cockles, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:44:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6935692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoelily/pseuds/Zoelily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha takes Jensen camping and Jensen is faced with one of his phobias.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real Monsters Have Eight Legs

**Author's Note:**

> This came out of a conversation in our Destiel group on FB about how Jensen revealed at JIBCon7 that he doesn't like spiders. I was prompted by my dear friend, Diana, to write it. This is for you...
> 
> This was written on the fly and is un-beta'd. Please let me know if there are any glaring errors.
> 
> Comments and kudos are loved and appreciated. <3

When Misha had suggested a few days of vacation time alone, Jensen had assumed he meant a quaint private hotel somewhere nice, or at the very least, a quiet cabin in the woods – what he hadn’t even considered was camping. In a tent. In the forest. In the middle of nowhere, British Columbia. 

Jensen wasn’t averse to camping, per se; he was just a guy who preferred a few creature comforts as he approached a more middlish age. He liked to sleep in a bed, with sheets, and he didn’t think it was too much to ask for a roof that wasn’t made of canvas. But, this is what Misha wanted, and Jensen was rarely one to deny Misha anything. So, he found himself currently trying to wrangle a line of interconnected tent poles into submission while Misha was off in the wilderness somewhere taking a piss. Convenient timing. If the man got eaten by a bear, it would serve him right.

By the time Misha returned from his sojourn into bear country, Jensen had the tent set up. Well, it was technically up, but it didn’t really resemble the perfect A-Frame shape it showed on the bag – more of an upside down Y actually, but it wasn’t his fault there was one more pole than the required amount. Sticking out of the top seemed like perfect placement to him. If Misha wanted it looking perfect, he should have held his bladder.

“Did you find the bathroom?” 

Jensen wasn’t sure what ‘the look’ was for. It was a reasonable question.

“There isn’t a bathroom, Jen. We’re back-country camping. The world is your toilet.”

Now that didn’t sound promising. “But what if I need to go #2?”

Misha just shook his head. “What are you? Three? If you need to take a shit, take some TP with you and make sure you bury it.”

Jensen sighed heavily, on purpose, with fucking intent, and went to go grab the rest of their supplies from the jeep. Misha came over to give him a hand carrying the sleeping bags, foam rolls, and cooking supplies. They left their cooler of food and clothes in the jeep. Apparently, keeping them locked up kept wild animals away. Jensen was fairly sure they’d left the moose at home, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Apparently, in a former life, Misha was a fucking Boy Scout or something. Jensen had thought starting a fire without gasoline would be pretty basic. Put the little bits on the bottom, the big bits on the top, strike a match and voila! After the fifth match and not so much as a wisp of smoke, he sat his cold ass down on the nearest fallen log and threw the matches at Misha.

“Why do I suck at this?”

Misha came up behind him and rubbed his head. “Don’t pout, baby. There’s a trick to it.”

Well, the fire God/Goddess, whatever, was obviously on Misha’s side because after five minutes, a little dried moss, some stick rearranging, and one damn match, there was a small fire blazing in their little rock circle and Misha had that smug ‘I told you so’ look on his face. Why did Jensen love the man? Sometimes he had to wonder.

Dinner was healthy and delicious – can’t go wrong with fire-roasted hot dogs and s’mores. After they ate, Misha talked him into grabbing his guitar out of the jeep and he played and sang softly as the sun dropped down behind mountain peaks. His mood had improved with the warmth of the fire, some food, and the company of his man, and the music was a soothing balm over the earlier part of the day.

He found he quite enjoyed the peace of the quiet evening. When he looked up, he could see the shadows of the tree-tops surrounded by a million pin-pricks of light. The stars reminded him of growing up in Texas. When you got away from the light-pollution of the city, it was like a blanket of sparkles covered the sky.

“Ready to call it a night?” Misha asked, yawning into Jensen’s ear.

“Yeah. I’m beat.”

They both took a quick trip to the sixth tree from the left, before settling into their zipped-together sleeping bags. Jensen snuggled, (a slightly more manly word than cuddled), his back against the hard planes of Misha’s chest as the other man wrapped his arms tightly around him and kissed his hair. Within minutes, Jensen could hear the soft snores indicating his friend was already asleep. Jensen relaxed into his little spoon space. Misha had a way of making him feel safe, even under unfamiliar circumstances. Maybe this camping trip wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Jensen wasn’t sure what woke him. He listened for a moment, yet all he could hear were the night sounds of the forest; the screech of birds, soft hoot of owls, rustling wind through the tree branches, and the slight creak of the tent poles settling. He cracked open one eye just to be sure nothing was amiss and screamed. He shuffled back in the sleeping bag, trying to back up to the far tent wall, tangling himself and Misha, and obviously waking the other man in the process.

“What. The. Fuck!” Misha managed to yelp while trying to untangle himself from the mess of Jensen’s arms and legs, and a half twisted sleeping bag. Jensen couldn’t even answer – just pointed at the giant hairy looking shadow that was hovering over the entire tent. He eventually managed to gasp a semi-coherent sentence.

“What the hell is it, Mish? It’s fucking huge!”

Misha started to laugh. It started out as a chuckle, but it built from there. Before long, he was roaring with his head thrown back, and whatever the giant supernatural creature outside the tent was, it obviously didn’t care about the noise - it just stayed there, still as ever. Jensen was terrified.

“Misha! Stop it! We need to be quiet, formulate a plan, find a weapon, something. Laughing at it isn’t gonna help anything.”

Misha literally started to wheeze. You’ve been on Supernatural too long. “I’m not laughing at IT. I’m laughing at you, you chicken shit.”

“Of course I’m a chicken. That thing has to be six feet! What the hell is it, man? Seriously.”

Misha fought his way out of the sleeping bag and crawled over to the front flap of the tent. He grabbed Jensen’s hand and pulled him along with him. Finally, they were gonna at least try and escape or something.

Misha pointed down in the corner of the tent by the zipper pull. “There’s your massive, terrifying, monster.” 

Jensen looked down to where Misha was pointing, fully prepared to punch the guy for being such an asshole and making light of something so serious, and saw a little brown furry spider, about half an inch in diameter. As he slowly lifted his eyes, he realized that the black thing he could see covering the whole side of the tent was actually a shadow, of stupid little fucking arachnid no bigger than the end of his thumb.

“You must be kidding me!”

Misha chuckled, shaking his head. “My poor baby – scared of the Itsy Bitsy Spider.”

Jensen did punch him then – softly – in the arm. It’s not like he could actually hurt Misha or anything, but he was still trying to make a point, dammit.

“Just scoop it up and toss it outside so we can get some sleep,” Misha mumbled, already shuffling his way back into the sleeping bag.

“I’m not touching that thing!” Jensen replied. “No way!”

“Seriously? You are actually afraid of it?”

Jensen huffed at the insinuation that he was scared of the spider, even though he kind of was. “I’m not scared of it really. I just don’t like spiders.”

“What happens when you find one at home?”

Jensen was glad Misha couldn’t see the blush that he was sure was creeping up his neck. “Uh, Danneel kills them and disposes of the corpses?” 

“Oh, Jen. In some ways you are so much like Dean, yet in others…”

“Fuck off,” Jensen mumbled. “Can you get it, please?”

“Okay, Jensen. I will dispose of the scary wary spider so my sweet man can sleep in peace.”

Jensen figured he should probably be mortified, but he knew Misha pretty well. He wasn’t gonna live this down any time soon, and it would be story for the ages, but Misha wouldn’t think anything of it really. He was, without a doubt, the kindest person Jensen knew and he loved Jensen unwaveringly.

Once the spider had been re-homed, and both men were settled back in the sleeping bag curled around each other to share both intimacy and body heat, Misha whispered in Jensen’s ear.

“I would slay the biggest spider in existence for you, baby.”

Jensen just smiled, because he knew it was true.


End file.
